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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707052">Remorse Is For Losers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU'>CookieCatSU</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bub Chronicles [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Benrey's such a supportive friend, Bubby &amp; Gordon are kind of friends, Bubby struggles with emotions, M/M, Not Really lol, Warning for some body horror, and emoting, and sometimes like frenemies, just Gordon's busted up arm, nothing graphic, they're bros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:13:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bubby, as the perfect scientist, never feels guilt nor compunction, unlike his less than satisfactory counterparts.</p><p>Until he does.</p><p>Or; Bubby feels bad about Gordon's messed up arm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bubby &amp; Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bub Chronicles [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Remorse Is For Losers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Guilt is a rare commodity, where Bubby's from. Black Mesa doesn't do guilty, or repentant, or contrite. Black Mesa does not apologize.</p><p>They'd have to care first.</p><p>Black Mesa scientists, by extension, also do not apologize. They don't feel guilty: at least not the ones that last. There's no space for such feelings, such weakening emotions (those who are weak are chewed up, and spit out, like mince meat).</p><p>Bubby, as the perfect scientist, certainly never feels guilt nor compunction, unlike his less than satisfactory counterparts.</p><p>So, what the <em>hell is</em> this burning feeling in his chest? Like someone clamped their hand around his heart and won't stop squeezing?</p><p>Indigestion, probably. Or heartburn.</p><p>He repeats that until he believes it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Bubby doesn't feel guilty, because that's stupid. It's just that staring at Gordon's amputated stump of an arm for too long makes him nauseous, because it's disgusting. He can see the bone just barely poking out, and the flesh which has just started to scab over dark red, as well as tattered skin that hadn't been sawed off quite right, like it was a rush job and the offending party had to leave in a hurry.</p><p><em>You did that</em>, rises up to the forefront, every time he sees the awful, mangled excuse for an appendage.</p><p><em>He didn't though</em>, he argues. <em>He didn't</em> tell them to start chopping off body parts like a bunch of barbarian hooligans. And even if it was his fault, he's surely paid for it, with all the time he spent trapped in his tube.</p><p>He nods, satisfied with the logic.</p><p>Regardless, the nausea in his gut doesn't dissipate.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dr. Coomer gives him an odd look, once they're separate from the others, sidling up beside him as was usual.</p><p>"Are you quite alright, Bubby? You look very pale" He says, so concerned in that way that was so frustrating (and so very Coomer, and a large part of the reason he fell in love with him in the first place).</p><p>"I'm fine" Bubby snaps, regardless of the fact that he's not and they both know it.</p><p>It feels better to deny than to admit to whatever fallacy has him feeling like shit, even if he knows Harold doesn't believe him for a second.</p><p>Dr. Coomer's already grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers, and is brushing his thumb over the back of Bubby's palm with all the casual comfort expected after 50 years, together. Bubby let's out a little hum, and the tension between his shoulders, so long pressed between the blades he'd forgotten it was even there, weighing on him, relaxes significantly.</p><p>"I promise I won't tell," Coomer says softly, in a whispery sing-song, "It'll be our little secret, like old times. Just between us old chums!"</p><p>Bubby gags, but relents, "It's stupid Freeman and his stupid, fucked up arm. I feel <em>bad…</em> incredibly bad, actually, and it sucks"</p><p>Coomer considers that, for about 3 seconds.</p><p>"It's okay to feel bad" He says after a couple moments, "It shows we're still human"</p><p>"Shut up" Bubby says, with a, perhaps fond, shake of his head, "Don't get all philosophical on me"</p><p>"Whatever do you mean? I've been spitting these truths all my life, Bubby dear!"</p><p>He hadn't been, of course, but Bubby saw no point in arguing the point… just this once.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Bubby ruminates on it for days. It eats at him, the guilt. He's finally come to the conclusion that it's not some illness. He isn't sick, or got a parasite, or something cool.</p><p>No, what he's feeling is <em>guilt</em>. Guilt over Gordon and his arm (and the totally, admittedly small part he played in that whole disaster).</p><p>"that's cringe. major cringe" Benrey says, with a playful sneer. Bubby glares him down.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, you mall cop bastard"</p><p>Benrey, naturally, does not shut the fuck up. He'd always been bad at following advice. Or listening. Or not being a general pain in the ass.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They've stopped for the night, in an abandoned laboratory just past the pools of nuclear waste a few halls down. Bubby kicks at empty shotgun casings, clearing a place to sit.</p><p>Harold falls out like a rock. He's snoring as loud as a train in only a couple minutes, passed out, head in Bubby's lap. Bubby sighs, runs his fingers through Dr. Coomer's hair, and waits for the sleep that he knows isn't going to come tonight.</p><p>Darn it.</p><p>"Can't sleep either, dude?" And there's Gordon, seated on the other side of the room, elbows perched on his knees, unsurprisingly awake. Because of course he is.</p><p>Bubby huffs under his breath. He wants to be annoyed, but it's hard to be indignant when one's so tired.</p><p>He deflates. "No. I can't"</p><p>"It's too quiet," Gordon observes, "I mean, I know it's ridiculous. I should appreciate the break, or something, but it's just <em>unnatural</em>. And isn't it stupid that I can't sleep without the sound of shotgun fire, or something, in the background?"</p><p>He shrugs, with a little laugh. It's pitiful. He's pitiful. He's a tough fucker too, though.</p><p>Bubby tries not to stare at his mangled arm.</p><p>He nods in understanding, glaring up at the ceiling instead.</p><p>"Can I ask you something?" He says.</p><p>Gordon nods reasonably. "Yeah, Bubby. Shoot"</p><p>"Why aren't you angrier with me? How can you talk to me like everything's fine?" His face contorts, twisted with genuine <em>confusion</em>. "... I mean, if you did what I did to you, to me, I probably would have stabbed you already"</p><p>Gordon twirls his puffy little ponytail around his finger, seemingly struck silent.</p><p>"Well darn. I don't know man. I am mad... I don't have one of my hands now, I'm not exactly happy. But I… I don't know, forgive and forget and all that crap" He shrugs, lays down, "Being angry is just a lot of fucking work, and takes a ton of energy I don't got, and I've got other things to focus on, like getting us out of here"</p><p>"I'm sorry" Bubby says softly, after a moment. Plain and direct.</p><p>Gordon blinks, eyes wide with surprise, "What?"</p><p>"I said sorry, damn. Get your ears checked," Bubby snaps defensively, face flushed.</p><p>"I don't apologize often, so enjoy it while you can"</p><p>Gordon snickers slyly, "Oh yeah, I'm going to remember this shit for a long time. I'm taking a mental picture"</p><p>It's peacefully quiet, for the shortest of moments.</p><p>"Are we uh, we good?" Bubby asks abruptly, maybe just the tiniest bit nervous.</p><p>Gordon nods, and he's smiling. "We're good"</p><p>"Good"</p><p> </p>
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